


romance novels

by jaythewriter



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Cigarettes, Fluff, Jay romanticizes the act of poisoning one's lungs, M/M, No Plot, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaythewriter/pseuds/jaythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nothing is perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	romance novels

**Author's Note:**

> just a drabble, not edited, literally threw images at a screen and hoped they'd stick. kind of nsfw kind of not.

you want to smell like cigarettes all the time.

cigarettes are not a pleasant smell, but it is a stench with firm memories and firm feelings. one of the few things you are sure of anymore: cigarette smoke, rolling up into your nose? tim is nearby. 

when you smell like tar and nicotine, he is near you, skin on skin, mouth against yours, sucking out your breath and replacing it with his name. your legs are parted, his hands are pulling trembles from your skin and slipping into you. his fingers are perfect musician fingers, rough worker fingers.

eventually, though, you need to breathe, and that’s when he lets the car door hang open, your feet dangling out the side and his follow suit, cheek pressed against the red valleys upon your chest. he’s out of cigarettes but the smell lingers because he smokes in the car, even though you have told him not to in the past. once a bit of an asshole, always a bit of an asshole, you suppose.

it doesn’t stop him from being beautiful to look at, though. his hair is falling over his eyes. he’s in need of a trim but you hope he’ll go for a little longer without making a lunge for the scissors stowed away somewhere in the mess of the trunk.

you’ve read books about this before, laying under the stars and being caught in the middle of nowhere. the people involved in those situations were in love, desperate, afraid, and running-- but they were in love and that made everything fine.

this isn’t fine.

you don’t have any money left in your bank account. tim has plenty to spare but you refuse to take anything from him. there is a killer out there, a man who thinks he is doing right by the world, a man you once called friend. someone you barely know, an innocent woman, could be dead because of you.

a shadow ripped from the earth that reeks of a thousand dead men and hides in your shadows, from the shadows, is waiting. watching.

wanting.

love doesn’t make any of it okay and it never will.

what it does do is keep you lying here, next to a man who says he never felt like this before, holds your face like it’s something precious and delicate, and you both look away from one another when it gets to be too much. confessions come nightly, about childhood nightmares, fears, about needing something from the other and being afraid to ask for it, about how long the other has felt like this.

love isn’t all that keeps you alive but it doesn’t hurt.

he reaches for his jeans, picking at his own pockets. something comes away with his hand, and he utters a soft victorious ‘yes’ under his breath.

wiggling back into his jeans, he scoots to the end of the seat and sits, flicking his lighter.

you don’t bother sitting up, but you do follow him, inching along so you’re laying on your stomach and have your arms looped around his waist.

he blows smoke into air and you breathe.


End file.
